I shook my head with a chuckle.
“The staff knows to keep their noses out of our business,” Growl said as we entered the elevator. He looked at my hands. “Don’t you have any clothes or other stuff?”
I cast my eyes up to the mirrored ceiling. Fuck. I really looked like shit. It was a miracle that the receptionist hadn’t run away screaming upon seeing me but working in one of Vitiello’s apartment buildings probably hardened you against bloody faces. “Most of my stuff went up in flames when the Vitiellos burned down the clubhouse. I always traveled light.”
Growl made a non-committal noise. “Do you have money to buy clothes and everything else you need?”
I patted my jeans pocket, which still held several grand. But I needed a new bike, so that would rip a huge hole in my pocket. “I’m fine, and I won’t borrow money from the Famiglia for sure. Even idiots know better than to owe the mob money.”
“I would have given you cash, without interest,” Growl said with a shrug and stepped out when the elevator arrived on the fifteenth floor.
I raised my eyebrows. “Really? Why would you do that? You don’t know me, and as far as your boss is concerned, I’m still the enemy.”
Growl motioned at the door at the end of the long hallway. “Because I once arrived in New York without anything to call my own as well.”
I nodded. Growl unlocked the door and motioned for me to go in. I didn’t like turning my back on him, no matter how semi-friendly he appeared but I forced myself to go ahead anyway. I froze in the loft that opened up before me. “Fuck.”
The living room-slash-kitchen-slash-dining area was big enough to serve as a ballroom. The ceiling was twice the height of a standard room at least. “I don’t need that much space,” I said.
Growl shrugged. “It’s the smallest apartment in the building, only two bedrooms.”
I laughed in disbelief. The Vitiellos really didn’t know what to do with the shitload of blood money they earned. I was poor like a church mouse in comparison. Did Marcella realize that? She’d be the one with the money. So far all the girls I’d been with had been in awe of me because of my status in the club and the not-too-shabby amount of money I earned as vice, but all of this meant nothing to Marcella. I was a nothing in her world, and especially in the eyes of her family. “I don’t intend to have any guests except for Marcella and she’ll sleep in my bed.”
Growl’s expression hardened. “Better watch out with those comments around other people. Luca won’t appreciate it if people talk badly about his daughter.”
“If she’s with me, it can be expected that she’ll sleep in my bed. But I suppose not in your old-fashioned world.”
“It’ll be your world if you want to be the man at Marcella’s side.”
I wanted nothing more, but belonging to this strange world with even stranger rules? Fuck. That would be almost as difficult as not ending up killing Luca Vitiello.
Growl held out the keys in one tattooed-scarred hand. I took it then motioned at his tattoo sleeves and tattooed throat. “Do people accept the way you look? Most of the mobsters like to look like businessmen in their expensive suits.”
“I’m Enforcer and I used to be the enemy. People will always treat me different. I don’t care.” He moved to the door. “I should go now.”
“Wait,” I said. “Can you give me Marcella’s number?”
Growl shook his head. “Not my place.”
I almost rolled my eyes. “All right, then give me Matteo’s number. Or does he need protection from me as well?”
Growl ignored my sarcasm and took out his cell phone. I noted down Matteo’s number. From the three Vitiello men, he seemed my best option to get Marcella’s number. Maybe Luca would be pissed if I didn’t ask him, but I had absolutely no intention of crawling to him every time I wanted to contact Marcella. He could suck it up.
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. I’d never lived in the middle of the city, in an apartment high above the city. I wasn’t sure I liked being so high up above the ground. I preferred my bike closer to me. If I felt the need to take a ride, I didn’t want to have to walk ten minutes.
I leaned against the glass, stunned by the turn my life had taken. If someone had told me a few months ago, I would have called them crazy. Shaking my head, I took out the cheap phone I’d bought in a pawnshop and called Matteo.
He picked up after three rings. “Vitiello.”
His voice was cold and businesslike.
“Hey future uncle-in-law, can you give me Marcella’s number?” I couldn’t resist the provocation. Matteo seemed like someone who could deal with it, better than Luca or Amo anyway.